


on fire from within, the moon lives in your skin

by Arcane_Apparition



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Fantasizing, Masturbation, Other, Porn with Feelings, nate's teasing and flirting backfires, nate/reader - Freeform, or it's your detective i tried to make it vague for everyone!!, reader is the detective here, tagged like that because detective is 'you' and wasn't sure what to tag it as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcane_Apparition/pseuds/Arcane_Apparition
Summary: The anticipation, as far as Nate’s concerned, is half the fun of it all.(also known as, Nate tries to be a tease and it sort of backfires)
Relationships: Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Male Detective & Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	on fire from within, the moon lives in your skin

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. This spawned from a post about N being left hot and bothered after flirting with the detective and then this was created.

The anticipation, as far as Nate’s concerned, is half the fun of it all.

Sweet words. Soft, deliberate touches. Kisses leading to  _ almost _ \- almost more, a promise of what’s to come - (you will, again and again, if he has any say in  _ that  _ matter)

It’s a game, really. One he’s well versed in but hasn’t had the pleasure of taking part in in some time.

(And none like this. It’s incomparable, what he’s building with you. A connection he’s been searching centuries for - so many years left  _ hoping _ , only to reach the conclusion that this was something that was always meant to be beyond his grasp)

But this game of allure and gentle teasing is one that takes two, and he’s quickly being left to wonder who really has the edge here. 

The first surprise came in the hallway of the Warehouse. A moment stolen just for the two of you - no bounties, no missions. Just you, and him, and a heat slowly brewing between you both. A tension becoming taut - he thought he’d be the one to take the final step, the last bit of pressure until it threatened to snap.

But you beat him to it. 

You, in all your wonderful surprises. 

A kiss bordering fevered, crowding him back against the door. The grinding of bodies in a chase for friction that he’s still not sure who started. A hand under his shirt, your tongue on his neck. 

(Flint striking steel - sparks threatening -  _ promising _ \- to lead to a blaze between you)

You’d joked that day about not wanting to leave, talks of being late to work, and it took all his willpower to not give into that idea. A barely managed amount of restraint, because how wonderful it would have been to steal you away for the day. But he didn’t, wouldn’t - because you both had work and never enough time. 

(So, he settled for the memory of that kiss instead. Your lips on his, how you felt pressed against him. He left and hoped that memory kept a heat trapped under your skin just as it had for him)

And again today: another surprise. This time outside the station. What was meant to be a slow kiss goodbye - sensual; a whispered promise of  _ more  _ \- became heated once more.  _ Hungry _ . Your arms around him, his hands finding your hips. His fingers itched to gather you into his arms - that desire to steal you away again back and stronger than ever. He’d take you anywhere - anywhere you desired, wherever you asked, so long as it was just you and him and nothing-

Then you rolled your hips into his, and any coherent thought beyond that was wiped from his mind.

(And what a wonderfully blissful feeling that was, to have his thoughts on nothing but  _ you  _ \- the taste of your lips, the heat of you under his hands, your quickened heartbeat and soft sighs the only sound he hears-)

But it ended. A reluctant parting, that itch still under his fingers. It was becoming harder and harder to keep letting go, but  _ time _ \- always a problem with time; never enough, even for a being like him that has an endless supply, it would never be enough with you.

(You’d teased about thinking of him all day, and yet he was absolutely not teasing when he said you would be the only thing on his mind)

The trip back to the Warehouse passes in a blur - everything in his head-addled brain feels like he’s seeing it through a haze. His thoughts are consumed entirely by you; not a new occurrence by any means. You’re all-consuming in that way - his thoughts, dreams, fantasies and everything in between only has you in the front and center anymore.

He makes it to his room -  _ somehow _ . His mind is still miles away, running through every possible ending to the scenario where he didn’t have to leave you. Door closed; he palms himself through his jeans with a soft hiss. Hard - still hard, having never fully come down. Untucking his shirt, his only other coherent thought following is trying to work his belt loose with fingers that don’t seem to be functioning right now. He wants- needs-

The game started as a way for him to leave  _ you _ wanting, thinking of him. And yet, you’ve turned it around with ease and left  _ him _ a complete mess.

And what a disaster you’ve left him, in only the best ways - laid out on his bed, shirt rucked up and jeans haphazardly bunched at the middle of his thighs. Everything feels like so much, all at once, treading a fine line towards  _ overwhelming _ \- senses heightened; everything hot, constricting-

He is normally a patient man, in almost every aspect - nearly to a fault. The build-up can lead to a better end, as far as he’s concerned - but not now, not with desire coursing through his veins like molten metal. Taking himself in his hand - jerky, unsteady strokes; struggling to find a rhythm (because, even now, he wants to draw it out. To savor, enjoy. But that building  _ want  _ has him almost to the point of delirium now)

With his eyes screwed shut, his mind wanders to you -you,  _ you _ . Always  _ you _ . Your hand now in place of his; your fingers wrapped around his dick, stroking

-a stuttered breath, a jerk of his hips - chasing a high-

(He pictures you, here with him. Eyes dark, shadowed by the lowlight of his bedroom. Would there be heat there? A desire of your own as you take him apart with nothing but your hand - watching him tumble off that edge-)

He comes with a quiet moan, stifled even more by the way he bites his lower lip. Eyes still closed; he lets himself ride the feeling -(in his mind it’s still the conjured up you coaxing him through the aftershocks of it all). He slumps into the mattress, arms at his sides - he feels as if he’s floating, drifting. It isn’t until his breathing is regular again and his senses are once more on a manageable level that he works up the energy to open his eyes.

And all he does is...lay there, eyes trained on the roof and his lips curling into a smile meant for no one else. 

Words don’t -  _ can’t  _ \- do justice for how he feels; completely enamored, foolishly lovestruck in only the best of ways. You’ve unwoven him just to thread yourself to him - heart and mind and soul, each day that binding getting a little bit tighter. More secure, permanent, and it’s a bond he can’t dare imagine being without, not now that he finally has it.


End file.
